He blinked several times. Pretty eyes. Dark lashes. Then he stepped closer, danger glinting at the edges of his expression.
I swallowed against a suddenly parched throat. An instinct buried deep inside screamed at me to run away. He was a fox, and I was nothing but a dumb bunny locked within his sights. Still, my anger refused to relent, and I remained glued in place while he stepped closer.
Then closer still.
“You come to me,” he said, voice low and even, “because I asked for you. Because I am committing treason for you, and the only thing I asked in return was that you be here every Thursday night to learn whatever I choose to teach you. You seem to have forgotten your role here, Sophia. You are mine to command. Mine to instruct. Justmine.”
By the time he finished his speech, he was standing so close I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye. My heart pounded against its bony prison as he stared down at me, unblinking. My fury had only grown hotter, sparking in my skin like a live wire. “I don’t belong to you,” I said, but it emerged all wrong—thready and cracked, like even I didn’t believe it.
He smirked, humorless. “You’re mine. Just ask Uncle Theo.”
My hand curled into a fist. Before I could rethink it, I swung.
He caught it, then twisted and jerked my arm behind my back. In a flash, my front was pressed against the wall, his body a cage around me.
“Never attack in anger,” he said beside my ear, his peppermint breath ruffling strands of my hair. “You will always lose.”
“Let me go, you bastard.”
He pushed a little closer—a warning—then released me. I fled toward the dark living room.
“Next week, drop the attitude.”
I stared daggers at him through the darkness. When I pulled my attention back to my full-coverage clothes lying beside the front door, I shuddered at the idea of smothering myself in the suffocating heat. “I’m not wearing these.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not! It’s more suspicious to be wearing winter clothes in the summer!”
“You will cover yourself, or you’re not leaving.” His tone was final.
“Like hell I’m not leaving.” I stomped toward the exit.
With awhack, a knife whipped through the air and buried in the wood of the door, right in front of my face. Frozen, I watched it vibrate, the silver glinting in the low light, before spinning toward him, eyes wide. “Where the fuck were you storing a knife? You could have killed me with that!”
“Put on the hoodie.”
I crossed my arms. “No. It’s too hot.”
His jaw clenched. With sharp, precise motions, he jerked his sleeveless hoodie over his head.
He took off his shirt.
Hetook off his shirt.
He just…took it off.
And threw it at me. I barely caught it.
“Wear it. Now.”
A vicious wave of heat rolled over me, paired with the sensation I’d edged too close to a steep and dangerous precipice.I tried to avert my eyes, but the gloom wasn’t deep enough to keep my gaze from touching his mouth…throat…chest…all the way to the happy trail disappearing beneath his joggers.
I was broken. Defective. Self-destructive and sickeningly attracted to things that could hurt me.
I forced myself to put on his shirt. My skin had grown too tight for my bones, my ribs too narrow for my heart. I wanted to run and collapse and cry and scream all at the same time.
“Hood up,” he said.
